by H G Lynch
“Fine,” I agreed, smiling. “Thank you.”
I started to stand, but Dr. Moore stopped me. “But Callie,” she said in a quiet, solemn voice, “Be careful. I don’t know how much Casey has told you about how he ended up here, but I’m warning you that you probably don’t have the full picture. Because of the way he feels about you, there are things he wouldn’t want you to know. But no matter how much he cares about you, if you push him, he could hurt you.”
I found Casey in the Common Room, sitting by the window, absorbed in the last few pages of Treasure Island. I knew he sensed me though, because as I approached him he held up one finger, indicating I should wait a second. I crossed my arms and tapped my foot impatiently, glaring at him. He flicked to the last page, his eyes scanning over the words. I bit my tongue to keep from yelling at him, knowing it would be as useless as flipping off a blind person.
Finally, he shut the book and looked up. I punched him in the arm, hard. He winced. “Ouch. What was that for?”
I punched him again. “You know perfectly well what it was for! You dirty-minded, narcissistic, nasty little creep.”
He grinned. “You love me really.”
I moved to punch him a third time, but he caught my wrist. I tried to pull free, but he wouldn’t let go. I growled at him. “I hate you.”
He stood, still holding my wrist, and looked down at me. He was so close, I could see my reflection in his eyes. Admit it; you want me. You liked what I was saying.
I could hardly lie to a guy who could read my thoughts. I smiled sweetly and leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Next time there’s a blackout, maybe I’ll come to your room and show you what I like.”
I pulled back, smirking, and saw hungry flames in his green eyes. I twisted my wrist free and walked out of the Common Room without glancing back, knowing he was watching my ass as I went.
Chapter Nine
** Callie **
Two days later, after my session, Dr. Moore instructed me to take Casey and go outside to the courtyard. We were escorted out by RJ and two other guards. Once outside in the chilly air, Casey and I took a seat together on one of the crumbling stone benches that dotted the enclosed courtyard.
As I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering a bit in an oversized jumper – Dr. Moore had lent me it – Casey eyed me suspiciously. I squirmed under his gaze. “What?”
He grinned, flashing his dimples. “Since when are you allowed outside without me having to plead your case?” he asked teasingly. He was speaking aloud more often now, at least when we were alone – the guards hovering just on the edges of my vision didn’t count.
I shrugged. “Dr. Moore seems to think that if I’m with you, I’m not likely to try and escape. She thinks you’re a good influence on me.”
Casey chuckled quietly, sliding his hand across the cool stone until his fingers brushed mine. A spark shot up my arm, and I bit my lip. His green eyes glimmered as a wicked smile curved his mouth. “Am I?”
I blinked, my train of thought completely derailed by his fingertips skimming over my knuckles. “What?”
His smile widened. “Am I a good influence on you?”
I shook my head. “I’m starting to highly doubt it.”
He laughed at that, a sweet, rumbling laugh. He lifted one hand to touch my face, his fingers light on my cheek, and my breath caught. There was a roguish gleam in his eyes. Is that why you brought me out here? Do you have…naughty intentions, Callie? His voice was a whisper in my mind, soft as his fingers on my skin, and my shiver had nothing to do with the chill of the air.
Damn.
Casey leaned closer, his thigh pressed against mine, and his hand slid from my cheek to the back of my neck, leaving a trail of tingles in the wake of his fingertips. My eyes fluttered shut, and I tasted his warm breath on my lips. My heart was beating too fast, and I recalled the night – in my room, the feeling of his mouth on mine, his hands on my skin, the hungry flames in my stomach. God, I wanted him to kiss me again.
Then I’d be more than happy to oblige, he murmured, and I realized dazedly that he’d heard my thoughts. Then he kissed me, softer than before, slower, almost gentle. His fingertips were hot on the back of my neck, and warmth flooded my body, banishing the chill of the air. His other hand slid around me, pulling me closer until I was almost on his lap.
Someone cleared their throat suddenly, making me jump. Blushing, I pulled away from Casey and turned to face Dr. Moore. The corners of her eyes were crinkled, like she was trying not to laugh. Casey gave a rueful smile, adorable dimples and all. “Hey Dr. Moore,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Sorry about that.”
Dr. Moore smiled widely, apparently amused by our public show of affection. She made some quick hand gestures, and Casey glanced at me. He nodded slowly, looking wary. Dr. Moore gave me a meaningful look. “Callie, can I talk to you for a moment?”
Pulling my hand free of Casey’s, I stood and followed her a little distance away, feeling Casey’s curious gaze on my back. “Do you have it?” I asked, turning my face away so Casey couldn’t read my lips.
Dr. Moore nodded. “I do. And I’d just like to say once more, I’m not sure this is a good idea, Callie. But I’m allowing it because I trust you know what you’re doing with Casey.”
I nodded slowly, surprised by her words. Did I know what I was doing with Casey? No. Not really. I knew his history, I knew why he was here, I knew he wasn’t crazy. I knew I liked him, I knew I liked kissing him. But we were in a psych hospital, that made things a little more complicated, more uncertain…plus, there was a blackout monster running around killing patients. That didn’t help.
Callie, what’s going on? Casey asked, his voice low in my mind. I threw up blocks hard and fast to keep him from seeing.
When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw he looked confused and stung by my sudden block, but I smiled ruefully at him and murmured back, It’s a surprise.
His brow furrowed, but the corners of his lips turned up. He was curious. Good.
I turned to Dr. Moore again and said, “I know what Casey can handle, and I think he can handle this. I think…he needs it. He just doesn’t realize it yet. But he will.”
She looked at me for a long moment, studying me. I stared back, this time not hiding from her, letting her see everything on my face. Finally, she nodded. “Okay, Callie.”
She turned to the nearest guard and made a ‘come here’ gesture. The guard came, and I saw now he was carrying a black guitar case. He and I followed Dr. Moore back to Casey, who stood up and stared at us all warily. “What? What’s going on?” he asked, his green eyes darting nervously from the guard, to Dr. Moore, to me. They stayed on me, his gaze questioning, worried.
I smiled reassuringly, and moved aside so he could see what the guard was holding. His gaze dropped to the guitar case, and his eyes widened. He sucked in a sharp breath, his whole body going tense. Dr. Moore quickly made some hand signs to explain what was going on. When she paused, Casey nodded cautiously.
Dr. Moore went on, using hand signs and speaking aloud, so I could understand. “The guards are going to stay nearby to keep an eye on things. Casey, if you feel you need to get away, if you start feeling angry or desperate, one of the guards will take you back inside. Callie, if you start to feel threatened by Casey, just motion to the guards and they’ll come. Otherwise, you’ll have half an hour out here, and I’ll be watching from the window up there,” – she pointed to what I knew was her office window on the side of the building – “just in case. Alright, any questions?”
I shook my head. Casey tapped out a couple of gestures. Dr. Moore glanced at me and nodded. “Yes, Casey,” she replied. He looked troubled, but he nodded and sat down on the stone bench again. The guard knelt and laid the guitar case on the ground, flipping open the latches and swinging open the lid. Nestled inside was a plain wooden guitar, but from the look on Casey’s face, you’d have thought it was a venomous cobra.
Carefully, the guard lifted the
guitar from the case and held it out toward Casey. Casey’s hands shook as he reached for it, his trembling fingers sliding across the shiny wood. The guard glanced uneasily at Dr. Moore, and she nodded. He released the guitar, and Casey pulled it onto his lap, looking down at it. His shaggy hair fell over his face, hiding his expression. He didn’t say anything, so I probed gently into his mind. Casey? Are you okay?
He nodded, ever so slightly.
Dr. Moore looked at me. I smiled nervously. “Thanks. We’ll be okay.”
She looked uncertain, but she stepped away to have a quick word with the guard, and then waved as she left the courtyard. The guard returned to his position, and I could feel several pairs of eyes watching us, ready to intervene if Casey started to lose it.
I sat down cautiously on the bench next to him. He didn’t lift his head as he asked, “So this was your idea?” His tone was flat, so I couldn’t make out what he felt about that exactly, and a flutter of anxiety threaded through me.
Since he wouldn’t look at me, I replied telepathically, Yes. I thought it might help you.
He looked up at that, and I froze. There was an accusation in his eyes. “Help me do what exactly? Remember that I’m deaf? That I can’t play anymore? That the thing I loved most was taken away from me?” His voice was rising, and I glanced uneasily at the guard nearby. He was frowning. He started to move toward us, but I waved him off.
Turning back to Casey, I met his eyes; they were hot with anger and despair, and my chest ached to see that. Very carefully, I took one of his hands off the guitar – despite his anger, he was cradling it on his lap as gently as if it were a baby – and clasped his fingers between mine. A little of the anger in his eyes softened and he pressed his lips together. “Casey,” I said, both aloud and telepathically, “You can still play.” Slowly, I moved his hand to the strings of the guitar. He tried to snatch it out of my grasp, but I held on – barely. Shh, I whispered soothingly. He was breathing hard, his hands still shaking. Gently, I spread his fingers with my own, placing his fingers on the strings. Instructing his hand with mine, I slid his fingers down the length of the strings, letting him feel them, letting him get used to it. He was trembling all over now, and I looked at him evenly. We can stop, if you want?
He shook his head. I kept my gaze on his face as I guided his hand around the neck of the guitar, down, over the sleek curves of the body. His gaze locked on mine, his eyes dark, and he slowly stopped trembling as I led his fingers over the shape of the guitar. My face warmed, and I was very aware of the points where my hand touched his. There was something intimate about this, as if I was guiding his hand over my body instead of the guitar’s.
Casey smiled slightly, his eyes flicking away from my face. I’m not sure what’s scarier, he thought at me, touching this guitar, or the idea of touching you the same way.
I blushed furiously, my hand stilling on his, his hand stilling on the guitar. You didn’t seem scared the other night, I pointed out quietly.
The other night, I thought you’d be leaving, he said softly, and I could feel the sadness in his words.
And now? I asked. I hadn’t told him I no longer wanted to leave, not so long as he was here.
He slid his hand out from under mine and used one finger to tip my face up to his. His eyes shone green as the frosty grass, and my heart beat a little faster. Now, I don’t think you’d be doing all this, – he nodded to the guitar and my hand resting on the strings, – if you were still planning on escaping.
He was right. The minute he’d kissed me, I’d realized I couldn’t escape, not really. Even if I somehow got out of the building and past the gates, even if I never saw the Montgomery Psychiatric Hospital again, I’d never truly have left because half my mind and half my heart would still be inside, with him.
And that terrified me and exhilarated me at the same time. I didn’t know exactly what this was, what it meant, and I was as frightened of knowing as I was of not knowing. But I couldn’t change it. Casey and I were inexplicably and irrevocably linked.
“Callie,” Casey whispered, his breath warm on my cheek, and I realized I’d closed my eyes. I opened them, staring into Casey’s green ones, and hoped he hadn’t heard what I’d just been thinking. He was so close, I could see the flecks of gold and silver in his eyes, the sooty sweep of his lashes. His fingertips skimmed across my cheek, and my stomach fluttered.
“Casey,” I murmured.
“Hmm?”
I bit down on a smile. “You’re meant to be focusing on the guitar, not me.”
He grinned, all white teeth and dimples. But you feel better than the guitar.
I smacked his hand away, and he chuckled. I gave him a stern look – or as stern as I could get with a blush still coloring my face. He sighed and brought his hands back to the guitar, holding it as lightly as he’d touched my face. He bit down on his lip, nervous again, and glanced at me. I nodded. “Go on, Casey. It’s okay.”
He took a deep breath and lifted the guitar, settling it comfortably on his thigh and looping his arm over it to rest his fingers on the strings. He looked natural with it, as if he’d done it a thousand times – he probably had. He bent his head, and strummed his fingers gently down the strings. The guitar made a soft, melodic humming noise, and Casey closed his eyes, pain and peace mixing on his face. His mouth twisted, his fingers spasming on the guitar, and I laid a hand on his arm. “Casey?”
He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, curling his hand into a fist. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. I could hear his thoughts; I understood. Memories flitted through his mind almost too fast for me to catch, images of the first time he held a guitar, and the last time, and all the times in between. Scraps of songs and tunes flickered and melded together, soft acoustic pieces and fast, hard rock played on an electric guitar.
Then memories of the attack by his step-mother, the pain and the terror, the rage, the blood seeping out between his fingers as he sunk the letter opener into her chest. Then his first months in the hospital; the cold, dark cell on the top floor, the despair, the suicide attempts. And the silence. Always the silence. Even when he screamed until his throat felt raw, when he smashed his knuckles on the door and walls, all he heard was silence.
I didn’t realize I was crying until Casey laced his fingers through mine and whispered my name. Callie.
I opened my watery eyes, his face blurring in my vision. Tears dripped off my chin, and I bit my lip, my chest aching for him, for the pain and horror he’d been through, that he was still going through.
He lifted his hand and rubbed his thumb across my cheek, wiping away the tears. His lovely pine-green eyes were sad and haunted. I’m sorry, Callie. I didn’t mean for you to see that.
I clasped his hand, lowering it from my face, and shook my head. I smiled. “Play something for me.”
He sighed. I don’t think–
Please?
He looked at me and one corner of his mouth curled up. “I can’t resist when you say please.”
I smiled. He bent his head and set his fingers back to the strings. He flexed his fingers, plucked the strings, picking out note after note, warming up. Then he straightened his shoulders and started to play, something simple and slow and aching.
It was beautiful. He was beautiful. It was suddenly like the broken, deaf boy I knew had transformed into someone else, someone serious and confident, his fingers moving with certainty, his face a mask of intense concentration. I closed my eyes and listened to the soft music flowing from his fingertips...
Then I took a breath and did the most terrifying thing I’d ever done, the thing I’d been planning ever since I suggested to Dr. Moore that playing guitar again might be good for Casey. I’d been thinking about it for days, every time I saw him, every time we spoke. I wasn’t even sure it would work, but…I had to try. It was the least I could do to try and ease his pain.
I let out my breath, and I opened my mind – really opened it, throwing all the doors open
, pouring out my senses. I smelled the frost in the air, the freshness of the grass, the damp decay of the leaves fallen from the trees. Over the soft strains of the guitar, I could hear a bird chirping, the wind whispering, the faint sound of traffic beyond the imprisoning walls of the courtyard.
I could hear it all. And now, so could Casey.
Casey’s fingers stumbled on the strings, and he stopped playing. I opened my eyes. He stared at me with awe and shock on his face. “Callie,” he breathed, and then flinched at the sound of his own voice, his eyes widening. I felt a grin split my lips. He pressed his fingers to his mouth. I can hear…I can hear everything…Callie…
My grin grew.
Birds. I can hear the birds. And the wind. I… He shook his head, lowering his hand from his mouth. “I can hear my voice,” he whispered. He swallowed. “Say something, Callie. Please, say something, say anything.”
I leaned toward him and kissed him softly, chastely, on the mouth, and murmured, “Keep playing, Casey. Please.”
His breath caught, and he made a strangled sound. He closed his eyes. He put his fingers on the strings again, and hesitated. I waited, giving him time to take it in. I could feel his mind, a thousand thoughts whirring through his head, a thousand emotions attached to them. Fear, confusion, shock, happiness. He was overwhelmed. I couldn’t blame him.
Slowly, he plucked at the strings. Picking out a chord. Fiddled with the tuning keys. Tickled the strings again. Then he took a deep breath and played. This time, I kept my mind open to him and my thoughts to myself, letting him hear only the music. He played the same, sad song, but I could hear the difference now – it was like the difference between his real voice and his mental Voice; the first time, the music had been just a touch flatter, a touch less real. Now, it was more than a line of notes played precisely; it was love and sorrow and anguish, tears and blood and agony, glittering snow and bright stars and a silent black sky. It was a story, told without words.
